“Oh, I can’t possibly imagine that you’d consort with pigs,” chided Thelma the Bartender as she brought over two bottles and two shot glasses.

Over the months that saw Absalom writing at this bar, he’d grown fond of Thelma. She was busty and acerbic and two tax brackets below most of the clientele. More importantly, she was most attentive to Absalom, having memorized his preferred drink-sequence.

Serving the public ain’t easy, and doin’ it well is damn-near impossible.

“Thelma, goddess of libation that you are, how many times do I have to warn you against eavesdroppin’? It’s not becomin’ of a woman like you. If you want to experience a life-changin’ conversation, you mustn’t resort to NSA tactics,” Absalom gave a shot-in-the-dark wink that defied his age, “just ask me out to dinner.”

“Oh yes, ‘dinner,’ that lovely euphemism for those too cowardly to just come out ask for it. Sex. Even if it were my greatest desire to bed you – and believe me, it isn’t – I simply wouldn’t be able to go through with it.”

“And why not?”

“Are you serious?” Following Absalom’s implicit instructions, Thelma set down the two shot glasses. One for a formely-respected, now lying-in-the-gutter-but-lookin’-through-the-smog-hopin’-to-see-a-star Writer. The other for a stoned-on-booze-and-slowly-realizin’-that-my-careerist-aspirations-will-never-get-me-high-off-life Intern. Between them, she placed a bottle of bourbon.

And for Absalom, a fresh bottle of Pepsi.

“By the gods, of course I’m serious! Why wouldn’t you bed me?”

“Mr. Fabliaux-”

“It’s Señor Fabliaux, Thelma, and you know it!”

“Whatever! Even if I wanted to sleep with you, I wouldn’t. And the reason? Your ever-deteriorating old-man body couldn’t handle it! Having sex with me would literally kill you.”

“Ah, but it’d be a most glorious death.”

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! First, I give ya’ll a bit of fiction to get the mind warmed up! Then, I run through some of the ways I’ll be entertaining myself over the course of the workweek. After I’ve tired myself out, you hit up the comments section and share your strategies for fending off the Beasts of Boredom!

Yes, it’s basically the Spaceship OL way station.

Okay, let’s rock!

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What if Superman took over the world…and the story ends there?  Not because there isn’t anything left to tell, or that once a man who is also a god declares himself king there is no more strife in the world.  No – the story ends because DC loses the rights to Superman, and the character remains tied up in litigation for years, and the story CAN’T be told.  Sorry, no third act.  Curtains.

Hit the jump and let’s talk about the very similar story of Miracleman, the dawn of deconstructionism in comics, and how the third act in the story of Miracleman begins again this week courtesy of Marvel!

Oh, and we’ll also be chatting about some of the other cool books dropping this week (full list can be found HERE) so if Miracleman ain’t yo’ thang you might find some other goodies within. 

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Goddamn!

Well, we’re back in the workweek, which means that spirits’re bound to be low.  How why shouldn’t they be? There’re matters which need attending! There’re bosses lookin’ over our shoulders! Hell, there might even times that things have to be done by!

The horror!

Luckily, this here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! First, I’m goin’ to detail some of the small pleasures that’ll keep me from turning my bathtub and toaster into a fatal 2-in-1 combo. Then, you hit up the comments section and share your own entertainment strategies for survival. Finally, we all reply to one another, making for a totally geektastic show-and-tell.

Work sucks, life rules, let’s do this.

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Woof! Like five fucking months since we cut the last podcast. Like two weeks since we recorded this new one. Listen, I work with assholes. What do you want with me? That’s neither here nor there. On the podcast: butt play, the console wars, Bateman’s gastric band, Thor, bathroom breaks, Smaug, swearing, caffeine, Star Wars talk (of course) and more.

Let’s fucking do this!

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I blame myself for ignoring the Starks.  “Winter is coming! Winter is coming!” they kept saying.  And not even with aplomb.  Always some somber ass portending with them.  Well, they were right.  The 2014 Polar Vortex (I prefer Meat Tornados, personally) dropped right square on my section of the country, and I was a fool for ignoring poor, dead Ned (SPOILER ALERT).  I’ve been digging my way out of my house ever since, and have only recently regained feeling in the extremities.  So I’m just now able to bang out this column for you guys, the first BTFC of 2014!  We got a few pretty cool books to check out (if you haven’t already), so hit the jump and let’s discuss, shall we?  Perhaps over a warm fire, with some cocoa and whatnot, yes?

As a reminder, all this week’s new releases can be found here.

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The Pie-Eyed former-bibliophile was flabbergasted, which was new for him. Drunk?  Awkward? Socially maladjusted? Oh, he was plenty comfortable with these. But in this moment, he was straight-up flabbergasted.

“Goddamn boy, what’re you lookin’ so flabbergasted for?”

“‘Cause you says,” a youthful forehead was slapped by its own palm, “youhadda shackkup with a witch. A witch?!”

Absalom bellowed, “Oh yes! There’s no two ways about it, Susy’s a witch! Hell, she has to be the witchiest witch I’ve ever come across in my time!”

“You mean with a cauldron and potions and brum-stick and all?”

“Well, not exactly.”

Pie-Eyed was making the most of his ever-dwindling faculties to figure out what the hell Absalom meant. He lifted his drink to his lips, hesitated for a moment, and then drained the entire thing. “Wait! Wait! Did she have magical powers?!”

“Yes and no.” Absalom chucked to himself. “I mean, we can get into all sorts of discussions about ‘magic’ and of what it is composed. Access to supernatural realms? ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology,’ is that it? The ability to astound, to create scenarios that push the limits of imagination? Artistry? The ability to realize to turn an idea into a tangible product? Do any, or all, of these constitute magic?”

“Uhh…”

“So we’re coastin’ on fumes, and I swear to the Maker that we sputter to a stop right in Susy’s driveway! No damn brakes or nothin’! The jalopy croaks right in the driveway.”

“It, it,” Pie-Eyed paused to burp, but continued, “it was kismet?”

“It sure seemed like it at the time.” Absalom sratched his grey-goin’-white stubble and flagged down the bartender in the hopes of getting some peanuts. “There we were, a carful of over-eager youths, sweatin’ testosterone and hankerin’ booze. And what was before us? A cabin that looks more like a palace, set woods that look more like a national park, with bonfires lightin’ up a keg-party that looks more like Saturnalia!”

“Betcha couldn’t wait to get outtathat car!”

“I’d take that bet – I stayed right where I was, didn’t unbuckle or nothin’.”

Once again, Pie-Eyed was flabbergasted.

“I know what you’re thinkin.’” Absalom swooped in with a preemptive strike. “How could I sit in the car with the prospect of inebriation and fornication mere yards before me? Well, I’ll tell ya,” the old-timer took a rip of Pepsi. “It’s `cause I knew about Susy’s reputation. I’d never met her before, but we ran in the same circles. And the word was that she was a goddamn man-eater. A seductress. A master of cardiac-vivisection. After I’d made the call to see if we could crash at her place, I told my crew that I’d be sleepin’ in the car and encouraged to do the same.”

“They lissen toya?”

“Hell no! The car’d barely come to a rest when those monkey-brains were already runnin’ towards the coeds, practically unzippin’ their flies as they went.”

Absalom Fabliaux, ever the consummate gentleman, slid the bowl of peanuts to the Pie-Eyed intern. When a passerby attempted to filch a peanut, Señor Fabliaux grabbed the interloper by the collar, growled that the “Yuppie Scumsucker better drop my friend’s nut,” and then dispatched him with a firm shove.

Pie-Eyed was grateful.

“So, wuddya wake up inna morning? Allyur friends hanged over and witthur pants down?”

“I wish. At about three in the mornin’ I wake up to find my buddy Urie frantically bangin’ on the window, screamin’ for help.”

“What wuzzit?!”

“To quote Urie: ‘You’re right, Susy’s a witch – she’s turned our friends into fucking pigs!’”

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

I’m going to show you some of the ways I’ll be keepin’ myself entertained over the next few days. Then, you (as an ever-faithful contributor to the Spaceship OL passenger-community), will hit up the comments section and do the same. Before all’s said and done, we’ll have had a nice round of digital show’n’tell.

Break the glass and grab your Emergency Word-Weapon!

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A week ago, I went out to dinner with a group of my friends. It was a memorable time, but it brought my year into focus—or rather, brought out its relative indistinctness. One friend, whom I hadn’t seen for a year, sat next to me during this festive occasion, and of course, having not spoken much to each other in some time, we decided to catch up. The problem was I didn’t have much to offer, so we were close to being caught up from the get-go. (It’s a wonder how I have any friends to begin with.)

The most pertinent conversation went like this:

“Hey, Eduardo! It’s great seeing you! So what have you been up to?”

“Not much.”

“Really?

“Ya, same old, same old, really.”

“I haven’t seen you in a year and nothing new has happened? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I’m a year older than I was the last time I saw you, so I guess that’s something.”

Fin.

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So 2013 is in the rearview, but what a year for comics, am I right?  While Marvel had an impressive and diverse publishing initiative in Marvel NOW, DC alienated fans across the board with bland updates to their characters (save for Batman & Wonder Woman, maybe) and business practices that would seem right at home in the mid 20^th century.  Meanwhile, Image released a flood of new titles that only continued to improve their brand as the go-to company for independent, creator-owned fare.  Paul Pope dropped his long awaited Battle Boy, comic legend Gilbert Hernandez dropped five new books, and we got another issue of Adrian Tomine’s Optic Nerve.  We even got some “Event” books that weren’t half-bad.  Hit the jump and check out what we here on Spaceship Omega thought was the 13 Best Comics of 2013, and make sure to agree/disagree with our rankings in the comments section!

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2013 is no more.  The New Year’s Day hangover has worn off, the world keeps turning, and the universe cares not how we mark the time.  Nevertheless, we are here to reminisce, and the past year for me was pretty good, I gotta say.  I’d describe it in detail, but I’m saving this shit for my autobiography.  I can’t spoil the goods now, ya know?  Let’s just say it was epic.  Like “ripping Conan the Cimmerian from fictionspace, injecting him with bath salts and letting him loose during a live taping of Big Bang Theory” kinda epic.

What I can divulge to you all is the stuff that I really loved about the pop culture of 2013, and there was a lot to love, to be honest.  Television has never been more bountiful, comic books had a banner year, and I bought more music in 2013 than I have in quite some time.

So, without further ado, and because I’m a goddamned list-maker/lover at heart, here’s some of my favorite stuff from the past 365.

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Holy smokes — it’s the final day of 2013.

Reflectin’ on the last twelve months, I have to say that it was a pretty solid year. Am I without financial concerns? Do I wield enough agency to do whatever I please? Have I achieved all my goals? No. No. And no.

But as far as relative simple lives go, mine is a goddamn blessing. I’m surrounded by righteous friends. My zany family has my back. I live with the absolutely babe-tacular Bride of Frankenstein. I’ve got a job I believe in. And I don’t have to travel to a rival village, murder an elder with a rock, and steal the water supply.

Also, they still let me navigate Spaceship OL!

So with my love of life intact, let’s meander through some of my personal favorites from the year TWO-ZERO-ONE-THREE!

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